


And You Can Sleep in a Coffin (But the Past Ain't Through With You) (SODAPOP CURTIS)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Other, Sodapop Curtis - Freeform, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>requested by anonymous: I’m a big Outsiders fan and I saw you will write about those characters! I was wondering if you could do something with Sodapop coming home from the Vietnam War. S.E. Hinton said that’s were he went after the events in the book. I think it’d be interesting to have a homecoming story and him adjusting back to life with y/k cause obviously it’d be pretty hard to get used to being home after that</p><p>word count: 1227</p><p>warnings: war mention, rape mention, murder mention, depression, PTSD, cursing, violence toward soldiers</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You Can Sleep in a Coffin (But the Past Ain't Through With You) (SODAPOP CURTIS)

The first time you had saw Soda after the war, his clothes were hanging off of him and you knew that he wasn’t the same man as before the draft.

The days after, days that turned to weeks, only proved that.

Soda would wake up in a cold sweat, nearly knocking you out of bed, yelling loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood. When cars backfired, he had to be reminded that he was in Tulsa and not back in Vietnam. He had to be paced at dinner because he had been starved and kidnapped and tortured and there was finally enough food for him on the table and dammit, he needed to eat it all.

But the worst part?

Soda wouldn’t kiss you. He wouldn’t hug you or tell you he loved you. Hell, you barely got him to sleep in the same bed as you. The doctor said he was shell-shocked, culture-shocked. You called it hell. You called it the worst thing that had ever happened to you.

But you couldn’t leave him. You thought about it, but you couldn’t. His face when he woke up, movie star good looks marred by a thick, angry scar across his cheek and nose, haunted you. Soda had never looked fearful before the war but after he looked nothing but.

You couldn’t live like that anymore, though. Walking on eggshells, never kissing your own boyfriend. You needed out or needed to get through to him, convince Soda that the world had changed and so had he.

If Johnny were alive- the thought of the boy made you wince as you sat on the couch watching some movie with Soda, a foot between your bodies- if he were alive he’d be able to get through to Soda. Maybe if Johnny were alive you would know where the fuck Ponyboy ran off to, or Dally would still be alive and he’d talk to Soda. You’d get Darry to do it but he hadn’t done much in the way of talking since the draft notice came around. And Two-Bit was Two-Bit and Soda didn’t really listen to him, anyways.

You were going to have to do it. So you cleared your throat and looked over at your boyfriend, “How was your day at work?” You never asked him that. He just shrugged and fought the urge to grab a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

“It was okay, I guess. The guys are givin’ me a rough time.” You felt victory well in your chest. That was the most Soda had spoken to you since the night he had arrived home.

“What’re they doin’, Soda?” You asked, trying to sound interested but not invested. Every other time you had expressed concern he had exploded like a frag grenade, embedding shrapnel from broken lamps in the walls and the carpets. It scared you, to be honest, but you loved him and Soda would never hurt you.

He shrugged again.

“Nothin’ much. Callin’ me a baby killer, rapist. Said I did things I didn’t do while I was in Vietnam. They don’t understand.” It was followed with a silent nobody does and you heart burned in your chest for the man you loved.

“Soda…” He looked at you, eyes aflame, for the first time in nearly a month.

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me or nothin’. I knew what I was comin’ back home to, okay? I knew they were gonna say those things. When we were over there some men went plum crazy. They burned entire villages, raped the women. I seen more dead babies in Vietnam than live ones. I knew this was gonna happen.”

The proclamation stunned you to silence, stomach in your throat. “I never knew,” You whispered, but it was like he hadn’t heard you. Soda kept speaking, never moving, like he was a zombie.

“And we tried to stop ‘em, we did. But how can you fight the enemy if you’re fighting yourself, too? So we let ‘em go and they’d come back covered in ashes and soot and they’d tell us how the villagers begged for their life and then the news people got ahold of it. Came into our camps and filmed us, like we was animals. It was hell. And then I came home and I wanted to leave it all behind me, to get back to you and my brother and then I find out Pony gone crazy and ran off somewhere and Darry won’t even talk to me. Johnny and Dally are dead, Two-bit ain’t Two-Bit anymore, not really and Steve-” Soda cut himself off, hand rubbing at his scar like it hurt. “Steve died tryin’ to protect me and all I got is you and I don’t want to ruin you.” You laid a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away, letting himself cry for what you assumed was the first time since the day he got his draft notice.

“Baby,” You cooed, the old nickname feeling wrong used on the new Soda, “You won’t ruin me. Why would you think that?”

Soda turned to you but wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’ve killed people. Shot ‘em, knifed ‘em. Hell, I’ve thrown gas on ‘em and watched ‘em burn. And I liked it. I felt like I was protecting you and sometimes when I wake up and you’re there to comfort me all I can smell is gas and blood and death and I can see their blood on my hands, the soot from the fire’s smoke. I can hear them in your voice when you whisper, screaming, begging, pleading with me to not kill them. I can’t bring myself to touch you because I’ll smear their blood on you.” You wanted to cry, but you knew that’s not what Soda needed.

So you kissed him, slowly, like you had the first time so long before that. When you and Soda were both teenagers messing around in the lot, when everyone was alive and the worst thing you had to think about wasn’t death and blood and war but Socs versus Greasers, rumbles at midnight and going down to the DX for a pick me up.

Soda barely kissed back, still crying, but you wrapped your arms around him and then leaned on his chest, listening to his rabbit heartbeat and hoping that he wasn’t like the other soldiers who ate their gun in the back shed when it became too much. He sighed and finally wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Sodapop, I love you, okay? I love everything about you and that didn’t change when you got drafted, that didn’t change when you came home, that doesn’t change now. I knew when you left that you could die, that you were going to kill. I didn’t care. I waited for you, okay? And we’ll find Pony. Darry’ll talk again. Two-Bit will come around and you’ll always remember Steve. We all will, just how we remember Johnny and Dally. Things changed, Soda. That’s okay. But you can’t sleep in the coffin that Steve came home in. Everything you went through, everything you’re thinking now, it will follow you, okay? We’ll get through this together.” He let out a harsh sob and kissed your forehead.

“I love you, I’m so sorry. I love you.”


End file.
